


Nicole Carraway

by crimsonsky132



Category: The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: 1920s, F/M, Inspired by The Great Gatsby, Jay Gatsby Lives, Love Triangles, Oblivious Jay Gatsby, Old Sport (The Great Gatsby), Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29235642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonsky132/pseuds/crimsonsky132
Summary: One minor change can bear life and death to many, and perhaps Jay Gatsby outruns his treacherous fate. There are plenty of flowers in the garden, after all.
Relationships: Jay Gatsby/Original Female Character(s), Nick Carraway/Jay Gatsby
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Nicole Carraway

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my humble corner. This is how I wish the Great Gatsby would have gone down. 
> 
> Happy daydreaming!

Perhaps he was lonely; with a lot on his plate he had barely noticed the cottage had been purchased, let alone who it's new resident could be. The SOLD sign caused great excitement, and while it was sturdy in the ground, his imagination galloped wildly around it. What other new money would join him in West Egg? Normally he paid little interest in business outside his own, but this was so close, almost in his grasp. Lost in his thoughts, he began composing an addition to his fantasy; a man like himself, looking for his long lost-

_BRIIIING_

_BRIIIING_

"Meyer Wolfsheim, sir." His butler announced and Jay looked up, nodding at the older man. Picking up the line, he walked away from the window.

"Good day, ol' sport."

* * *

The buggy came to a halt most abruptly, and she fell forward in her seat with a soft laugh, catching herself on the armrest.

"My most terrible apology, miss!" The driver, a middle aged fellow exclaimed.

"Oh, don't fret! I'm still in one piece." She sang out. "As is your jalopy, sir."

She pushed a stray hair from her face, and looked out to the lawn. It was beautiful. Large trees enveloped the small cottage, and wildflowers sprouted out without care.

"I must say, _this_ is the real McCoy, miss. Long Island is something special. Have you ever been here before?"

She shook her head slowly.

"If only…"

She whispered, her voice filled with longing and she opened the buggy's door.

"Let me help you, miss." The gentleman offered, quickly rushing about to her side of the car.

"Baloney! I'm quite able, sir. But thank you." She offered a grin, almost jumping to the dirt ground.

She brushed off her dress with grace, and spun around. Home sweet home.

"You're quite the cat, miss! Your husband must be very lucky." he jittered, setting her luggage next to her.

There was a pause.

"Oh, me?" The woman looked up quickly, and he nodded. Shaking her head she continued, " I think you're mistaken, sir. I'm not wed, and I'm traveling alone. This is where I'll be residing, but it's only for the summer."

He looked stunned to say the least. Most women, especially of _her_ stature, had been seen as arm candy to the men of New York.

"My apologies...yet again, I might add." He chuckled warmly, retreating to the car. "Enjoy your stay in West Egg."

"Thank you again." She waved lightly as he drove off down the dirt road.

The wind tugged at her hair with ease, freeing loose baby hairs to frame her face. The remainder of her brown locks were captured in a long, loose ponytail. Her soft pink lips were natural and her smile sparked enchantment, and her cheeks were warm in the sun. The glow of her green eyes could be matched with the complexity of fireworks on a summer night, entrancing to say the least, and were embellished with black mascara.

Each movement she made was purposeful and well constructed, like a piece of art, and her green dress flowed loosely around her legs. She was quite the dame, able to compel heartless fiends, gamblers, and buyers alike.

She just didn't know it yet.

In her excitement she sprang to the door and bashfully took in her surroundings once again. Noticing her home was the most humble in West Egg, she decided to make the most of it.

"Home at last." she breathed out quietly.

She took a letter out of her purse, scripted with the words _'Do not open until you find home'._ It was her father's handwriting. He had passed away the year prior, and she didn't have the courage to open it until now.

_I am with you every step you take. I am for you. You're going to do great things, and I couldn't have asked for a better daughter. Stay true, Nicole Carraway._

* * *

In the distance Gatsby saw movement; a jalopy driving off, luggage being tugged along, a _woman_ holding something to her chest.

A low hum rumbled in his chest.

"How interesting."


End file.
